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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682555">Countdown</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthiestpiglet/pseuds/thefilthiestpiglet'>thefilthiestpiglet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amputee Bucky Barnes, HYDRA Trash Party, Past Rape/Non-con, Suicidal Thoughts, fuckpotato</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:14:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,681</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthiestpiglet/pseuds/thefilthiestpiglet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Soldier leaves Steve at the riverbank because he knows he only has three days and his limbs are not his own.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Countdown</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Continuing my wip-clearance!  This one was apparently started in 2018?  I think I'd just read the absolutely lovely <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922815">Wake Up Kiss</a>, where Bucky was turned into a fuckpotato much earlier in his HYDRA tenure.  Anyway, basic premise for this fic was "what if Bucky had four robot limbs instead of one when he pulled Steve out of the river?"</p><p>General warning for fuckpotato-ness, though no Buckys are fucked in the timespan of the story.  Also warning for Bucky having some suicidal ideation in the vein of "anything is better than HYDRA."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As the Soldier limped away from the riverbank, there were two things he knew with absolute certainty: One, that the man he’d rescued was STEVE.  Not just just a generic name on a mission report, relevant only for the duration of the mission, but a name, a person that reverberates through his entire being, what little of him that remains his.  Even now, he could feel a thread of want, pulling him back toward the riverbank, back toward STEVE.</p><p>However, the second thing he knew with absolute certainty was that he would NOT go back to his handlers, and that riverbank meant detection and increasing that likelihood.  Not returning to his handlers meant death, but at least that would be better than being used to kill, used as a Fuck Thing, or simply put away in a dark drawer.   No.  He was free, and he had the limbs, so he’ll run for as long as he could, even if it meant running away from Steve.</p><p>He first found a gas station bathroom and removed his five trackers — one in each limb and another on his lower back.  After washing away the blood, he perched inside a stall to think.  The limbs were a count-down clock, as he remembered all too well.  After a mission in Odessa, he’d ran, and made it to what he thought was a safe place to rest —the drop-ceiling of an office building in the outskirts of Tiraspol.  Then he’d made the mistake of sleeping.  When he woke up, he’d found all of the limbs deactivated and detached around him.</p><p>He’d lain in that spot for three days before they found him.  Then came the punishment, the added trackers, and the tighter leash: handlers who could deactivate the limbs with a single button.</p><p>The scientist who had the forethought to install the sleep-triggered failsafe was rewarded with promotions, praise, and of course, exclusive use of the Fuck Thing for a full month.</p><p>The Soldier shook his head to clear his thoughts.  This time the handler was dead, the limb deactivation device buried in rubble.  This mean that he had three days of full functionality before sleep deprivation starts kicking in.  Three days to set everything in order, until sleep catches up.  And when it does … well, the Soldier knew of many ways to end a life that were much faster than thirst and starvation.</p><p>There was so much he wanted to do, yet so little that he could, on the stolen limbs and borrowed time.  Time that was wasted dawdling in a gas station bathroom.  With that, the Soldier unlocked the bathroom stall and went out in search of food.  He needed to eat enough for 6 men in order to keep powering the limbs.  The Soldier felt a rusty rumble in his throat as he chuckled.  To stay on his feet, literally. </p><p>——— </p><p>On the first day, he eliminated any HYDRA handlers and techs in the direct vicinity who could potentially have access to deactivation technology, and released a second round of HYDRA files onto the internet — ones that did not share an information server with SHIELD.  That night, the part of him that wouldn’t stop chanting “Steve” drew him to raid the Smithsonian, the Library of Congress, and the National Archives.  On the second day, he set up bugs and tracking feeds on the remaining handlers who could deactivate him, and sent them each misdirecting intel about his whereabouts.  He bought a car, five plane tickets to five different states, and a train ticket to New York for the next day, then spent the night reading the books he’d acquired from the Library of Congress, each new page triggering a new avalanche of memories.  </p><p>On the morning of the third day, drawn by his hazy memories from Before, haunted by all the wounds he’d inflicted on Steve on the Helicarrier, and wired from the coffee and exhaustion of staying awake, he went to see Steve.</p><p>———</p><p>Steve was at a cemetery, speaking with the Falcon and the Widow.  The Soldier stood at a distance, and used civilian birding binoculars to verify the health of Steve Rogers.  A part of him calmed at the sight — Steve flanked by friendlies, jaw set in determination.  The Soldier ached to be there next to him, watching his six.  But the Soldier also ached from the limbs pulling at his torso, from the strain of staying awake.  The Soldier blinked, trying to will away the headache and the pain in his eyes, then looked at Steve again.  The Widow was gone.  Steve turned in the Soldier’s direction and fire off a lazy, achingly familiar salute.</p><p>Fuck.  Steve had either better at counter-espionage in the past two years, or he did not look the part of a casual civilian birder.  Frankly, his fraying mind couldn’t bother to parse the difference.  The Soldier put on some glasses to hide his bloodshot eyes, took a deep breath against the fluttering behind his eyelids and walked to meet the two men.  </p><p>“Hello, Bucky.”  Steve smiled, thin and tentative, face still sallow from his hospital stay and the four bullets that the Soldier had put in him before that.</p><p>Bucky.  The Soldier’d read that name in the books last night, had tried to say it and found it foreign on his tongue.  Steve knew his name better than he did.</p><p>“Hi, Steve.”  He darted a quick look at the Falcon, who had remained standing discreetly in the distance as Steve approached.</p><p>“I didn’t expect you to come find me.”  Steve said carefully. “I’m assuming that the fact I’m still alive means that you don’t want to kill me anymore.”</p><p>The Soldier shook his head.  “Not HYDRA anymore.”  At Steve’s hopeful look, he quickly added, “I don’t remember much.  And I need to leave.”  He fingered the train ticket in his pocket.  “Just wanted to see you first.”  Drink in the sight of Steve.  Have some good memories before the end.</p><p>Steve’s eyes softened and his lips curled up into a full smile.  “Thank you, Bucky, for coming. Where are you going?  Fancy some company?”</p><p>That name, again.  It sounded so natural coming from Steve.  As if Bucky were a real person and not a name in a book, on a placard, on a tombstone.  As if Bucky wasn’t currently a torso with a head full of scrap metal.</p><p>With the limbs, he was the Soldier.  Without, he was the Fuck Thing.  After the Surgery, they’d rarely bothered to wipe him, and he remembered too much of being a lump with convenient fuckholes to really believe he could be anything else.  There was not enough left of him to be Bucky.</p><p>Steve was still smiling at him, waiting for an answer.  Oh god, the Soldier wanted to stay with that smile forever.  But he only had a day.   The headache he’d been fending off with coffee returned with a vengeance, and his fingers ached for something solid, like a trigger, a knife, a grenade.  They find the ticket to New York instead.  Yes.  New York.  One final task before sleep.</p><p>“Sorry Steve.”  The Soldier shook his head.  “This is a solo mission.”  He squared his jaw, allowed himself to look Steve in the eyes one last time, then turned and ran.</p><p>———</p><p>Losing Steve and the Falcon was relatively easy — they were soldiers and not trained in the relevant skills of tailing and espionage.  He blended into the crowd of coastal commuters, and several hours later, disembarked at Grand Central Station.  He suffered several flashback episodes while standing in the main hall, but thankfully the New Yorkers didn’t shoot him a single glance. </p><p>His final destination was perhaps the most secure place that he’d infiltrated in his long life, but he would have succeeded if the sleep deprivation hadn’t affected his finer limb control.  He’d seen the laser tripwire, and was carefully crawling over it, when his entire right arm jerked.  He fell through the ceiling into the room below amidst blaring alarms, and within 10 seconds had weapons pointed at him from all directions. Not the way he wanted this to go, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. </p><p>The Soldier got down on his knees and raised his hands in surrender. “I’m here with two things.”  The Soldier stated as calmly as he could.  “One, there is a flash drive of files under the star of my left arm.”  The gnawing at the back of his head was overwhelming now.  He needed to finish this before his brain started misfiring signals to the limbs.  “Two, I’m surrendering to you.  You can do whatever you want with me after you read the files, kill me, whatever.  Just don’t return me back to HYDRA.”  </p><p>Then the Soldier closed his eyes to finally sleep.</p><p>———</p><p>It was pitch black when the Fuck Thing woke, which meant it was in the storage drawer.  But his ass didn’t ache from being fucked, and there wasn’t a feeding tube stuck down his mouth.  He was laid on top of a soft surface, and usually they didn’t bother lining the storage drawer with anything.  The Fuck Thing gave his torso a tentative wiggle, fully expecting to hit the top of the drawer or trigger the shock collar.  Instead, two surprising things happened.</p><p>The first was that LIMBS moved.  The Soldier had never woken up with the limbs attached before, and he almost fell off the bed.  The fumbling and the surprise was enough to remind him of the Helicarrier and the previous three days.</p><p>The second was that the light came on and a voice said from the ceiling, “Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes.”  Said light also illuminated the room that he was in — the bed, a small enclosed bathroom, no windows, and five hidden cameras.  The voice continued from the ceiling. “I hope you are well rested, Mr. Barnes.  Mr. Stark will be here soon.  In the meantime, would you like some sustenance?”</p><p>A slot opened in the wall, revealing some bread and stew. </p><p>The Soldier’s stomach reminded him of the energy toll of the limbs, and he took the food gratefully.  He was mostly done by the time Tony Stark stalked into the room.  The Soldier curled back onto the bed and made himself as small as possible — Stark looked furious.  </p><p> “What kind of fucking stunt was THAT."  Stark came to a stop at the foot of the bed and put both hands on his hips, a scowl on his face.  "First you break into MY house, damn near giving me a heart attack by how far you’d gotten — JARVIS had to summon all the spare suits at his disposal.”  Stark started ticking off on his fingers, “Then you pass out and your LIMBS fall off, which, by the way, would have been heart attack number two if I hadn’t gotten better at dealing with stress because I talk to a fucking therapist like a fucking adult.”  Stark rolled his eyes, and continued.  “And THEN I get around to reading the files that I had to fish out of your detached arm, which, yes, I’m a mechanic, I love robot things, your arm is an engineering marvel, but I felt like I was looting a corpse, which I had never hoped to experience outside of video games.  Anyway, I find out that you killed my parents, which finally made your second statement make sense.  So then I was stuck with a lot of rage and frustration and all the aforementioned heart-attack-worthy stress, and no good way of venting, because apparently my parents’ killer is a Human Lump that had been brainwashed and tortured by HYDRA.”  Stark finally stopped and glared at the Soldier.  “What the everlasting fuck made you decide this was a good idea?”</p><p>The Soldier blinked.  He had not anticipated the sheer quantity of Stark’s words.  “I thought you’d kill me.”</p><p>Stark groaned.  “Yeah, I got that.  Which is frankly such an insult.  What, you thought I’d go into some grief-stricken rage and just, what, shoot you with a repulsor?  As if I didn’t spend the last two decades working my way through a cornucopia of ill-advised coping strategies to finally being fucking adult about this?”  Stark scrubbed his hand through his hair.  </p><p>“It was a gamble.”  The Soldier murmurred. Stark looked at him sharply, so he shrugged and continued.  Might as well lay his cards on the table.  “Knew I couldn’t stay awake much longer, didn’t want to end up back in HYDRA’s hands.  If you were angry and wanted to kill me, then at least my death would have made one person happy.  If you didn’t kill me, then …”  The Soldier shrugged.  “No matter what happened, you wouldn’t have returned me to HYDRA, and you had the tech to fend off their attacks.  You were the safest place where I could risk sleeping.”</p><p>Stark stared at the Soldier, then heaved a deep breath.  “You really didn’t care what I did to you, huh?”</p><p>The Soldier shrugged.  Nothing Stark could do would be as bad as HYDRA.</p><p>“Christ.”  Stark scrubbed his face again, and it was like the fight suddenly went out of Stark.  He flopped down onto the bed, and a bag of dried blueberries emerged from somewhere inside his hoodie.</p><p>The Soldier looked at Stark, who was munching on the blueberries and resolutely not looking at him.  After a moment, Stark sighed.  “Well, anyway, in case you’re curious, I’ve disabled that final tracker that activates when you sleep — JARVIS caught the signal before it left the building, and was able to follow it to the base of your skull.  And from that lovely piece of hardware I was able to reverse-engineer the locking/unlocking mechanism for your limbs.”  Stark pulled a small object from his pocket and tossed it to the Soldier.  “I’ve changed the signal receptors, so other HYDRA baddies won’t be able to unlock them.  That there’s the only on/off switch.”</p><p>The Soldier picked up the object.  It was just a bundle of wires soldered to a plate with a switch attached, but never in a million years had he thought he’d be able to hold *this* in his own hands.  Having his own control of the limbs, not living in constant fear of them being taken away, not having to earn them back by doing whatever the handler felt like that day.  To just have the limbs be *his.*  He didn’t have to be the Fuck Thing anymore.  He could be something more than the Soldier.  He could sleep.  He could live.  He was a person with a full body — a torso, four limbs, and a head full of jumbled memories.  “Thank you,” Bucky whispered.</p><p>Stark cleared his throat awkwardly.  “Yeah, well I’m still pissed at the stunt you pulled, but hey, I’ve gone on three-day-long caffeine benders before, and…”  Stark swallowed and looked intently at nothing in particular.  “Being a desperate POW who just wants to be safe again is… well, not an unfamiliar feeling.”  And with that Stark was suddenly up, dusting off his jeans and making a beeline for the door.  “Anyways I’m going to go draft up some different ways for you to activate and deactivate that and maybe also invent some new gadgets before staring longingly at my favorite bottle of whiskey while calling my therapist.  JARVIS will handle anything you need, and oh I haven’t told Cap that his other boyfriend is here so he and Wilson might be running around Indiana or something.  If you do call him I want to be listening in because I want to take pictures of his puppy-dog face….”  </p><p>At that, the door closed, leaving Bucky in blessed peace.  Bucky carefully tucked the switch away behind the plate of his arm, leaned back on the pillow, and began to plan.  He’d need to get his bearings and be more of a functional person before contacting Steve.  He’d like to repay Stark in some way.  He wanted to read, to eat, to explore.  And wasn’t that a marvel, to be able to plan his own future.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>woop woop I think I'm down to 16 wips now!</p><p>Fun fact: I'd originally stalled out on this because the plan was going to be Bucky staying awake for 10 days while hunting HYDRA with Sam and Steve, while getting increasingly depressed and hallucinatory.  Turned out that was not a fic that I could write.  Bucky makes a much better decision in this one, to run away from Steve in the cemetery.</p><p>Also: have an idea about all the horrible things HYDRA probably did to this poor Bucky?  Come yell at me about it in the comments or on the discords!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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